


by any other name

by erebones



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Flirting, M/M, Making Out, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 12:05:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18234626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erebones/pseuds/erebones
Summary: Fjord snorts, then laughs aloud. “What is it gonna take,” he says, tapping a finger against the incorrect name, “to get you to spell it right?”Caleb’s eyes glint with stifled amusement. “I don’t know.” His voice is so low that Fjord can scarcely hear him. “Maybe you should spell it out for me.”“You’re a smart man,” Fjord murmurs. He can feel himself blushing, heat crawling up his cheeks, but the simmer in Caleb’s blue eyes gives him the courage to add, “I think you can figure it out just fine.”





	by any other name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queenschadenfreude](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenschadenfreude/gifts).



> Q found an otp prompt generator and it spat out this lovely gem: Caleb is the barista at a coffee shop and always screws up Fjord's name on purpose. One thing led to another, and somehow I convinced her to collaborate with me on some art and fic!!!! You can find the comic she did [HERE](https://twitter.com/qschadenfreude/status/1110159562190045184). xoxoxo

“Fjord, you look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks. I wore my nice shirt today and everything.”

Beau sighs. “That’s not what I—fuck.” She massages her temples with her fingertips, eyelids pulling like rubber bands before snapping puffily back into place. They’re both exhausted, though for different reasons; Fjord suspects _her_ excuse has a little more to do with the gruff dwarven girl who lives across the hall from her than with studying for exams. “I’m sorry,” she says, dropping her hands to the table. Her fingers tap restlessly against her open textbook. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant, you look tired. Have you been sleeping okay?”

“Eh.” Fjord drops his head into the palm of one hand and grinds the ball of his thumb into his eye socket. It helps, a little. “Been having some weird dreams. I think it’s just, y’know. New place, new… situation.”

“Yeah.” Beau stifles a yawn into her forearm. “You a coffee drinker? There’s a great place just at the edge of campus, kind of small—local secret. A few of the employees are buddies of mine. We could go there, get a pick-me-up.”

Fjord thumbs the edge of his book and thinks of his bank account. “I dunno. Coffee’s cheaper at the mess hall, isn’t it?”

“Maybe a little, but it’s also _way_ shittier.” She springs to her feet and shuts her heavy book with a _slam_ that echoes around the quiet library. Someone shushes them; Beau pays them no mind. “C’mon, first one’s on me. You’ll feel better, promise.”

Fjord is reluctant to accept her charity—Beau is nice enough, but he’s only really known her for a few weeks—but he’s been chipping away at this research paper all day and he’s barely made a dent. Rock bottom feels like it’s lurking just around the corner. At this point he’s willing to do whatever it takes to stave it off. “All right,” he says at last, and tucks a little piece of paper into his book to save his place. “Just let me check some of these out.”

Beau eyes the stack he’s collected on the table in front of him but wisely says nothing, only trailing along behind him as he lugs the majority of it to the front desk. The librarian also, kindly, says nothing about the collection he’s amassed—no doubt the bespectacled firbolg has seen worse—and soon they’re stepping out into the crisp sunshine of a late afternoon at Soltryce University.

Beau rambles a bit as they walk, talking about this or that without seeming to require a response. It’s one of the many things Fjord appreciates about her: she doesn’t demand constant attention as proof that he likes her. When she gets bored of talking she gets her phone out and scrolls through twitter—by his count, her feed is about half weird university memes and half tits—which leaves Fjord to drift in that idle, scratchy headspace brought on by too much studying. The cool breeze ruffles his hair as they walk, and he lets the weight of his backpack settle evenly on his shoulders until it’s just white noise instead of a burden.

It’s been a long time since Fjord could call himself a student. Part of him feels strange, going back to school so late—not late enough to ally himself with the adult students continuing their education later in life, but also too late to really feel at ease with the majority of teen and twenty-somethings stepping out into the world for the first time, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and not yet weighed down with the reality of loans and student debt. It’s more lonely than he thought it would be.

But he’s starting to find his feet. His classes are difficult but rewarding (he especially enjoys the History of Patron Studies module with Dr. Vandran), and as time passes he’s making connections, forging friendships. Beau is one of these. He still can’t pin down her major, but she shares two of his classes—the aforementioned history course as well as a Deep Speech class he picked up to fulfil his Ancient Languages requirement—and they’ve started sitting together in the mess for lunch and studying together in the library when their schedules overlap. She’s younger than him by a bit, and a little flush with that newly-won freedom smell some of the younger students have; but she works as hard as she plays, if not harder, and shows flashes of brilliance that impress and terrify Fjord in equal measure. Whatever she’s gunning for, once she bleeds the wild oats out of her system, she’s going to be a force of nature.

They reach the edge of campus after a leisurely fifteen-minute stroll and Beau turns down a side street that you’d be hard pressed to fit a car down. Soltryce is smack dab in the middle of Rexxentrum, the oldest city Fjord’s ever lived in by far, and he’s still sometimes struck dumb by the strange quirks and aged beauty of it. Most main roads are paved, now, but this one is cobbled underfoot, and he has to watch where he puts his feet to avoid stumbling as Beau trots along ahead of him.

“Smell that?” she calls over her shoulder. “They roast their own beans!”

Fjord lifts his nose to the air and sniffs. Sure enough, there’s a faint burnt-toast smell on the breeze, undercut with the rich aroma of coffee. His brain feels like it’s perking up just at the smell of it. “Smells good!” he says, following her out of the street onto the narrow sidewalk.

The buildings hang close together overhead like tree branches reaching to entwine, heavy and squat and sewn together at their seams like books who’ve sat so long on the same shelf that they’re practically inseparable. They’re mostly shops, it looks like, with the occasional alleyway cut between the blocks, so narrow and damp that Fjord wouldn’t trust himself to walk down one without having to turn sideways to fit. It’s at one of these storefronts that Beau stops and wrests the door open with a cheerful jangle of a bell. Warm, pastry-scented air wafts out and Fjord follows on her heels, mouth watering.

He immediately feels out of place. Specifically, he feels _too big_. The ceiling is high and vaulted but the walls press close to either side, the original paint taped over with layers of posters and artwork and blurry photographs and torn-out pages from faded magazines. There are plenty of tables all wedged close, with so little room for maneuvering, Fjord is afraid to take a step in any direction lest he knock something or some _one_ ass over teakettle and embarrass himself. But Beau is already forging ahead to the counter, so he conscientiously tries to make himself as small as possible and follows.

He can’t deny the atmosphere of the place is… cozy. It smells of coffee and honey and sweet bread, and the handful of patrons are bent over their work or talking quietly in pairs and threes, keen to not disturb the pleasant quiet. There is music playing over the speakers mounted high and away on the walls, but it’s soft in volume, just some mellow strings over an ambient looping track that’s calming rather than obnoxious.

Even Beau, normally about as calm and placid as a punch to the face, seems to be feeling the effects. She slinks to the register and plops her elbows onto it, quietly mulling over one of the cardstock menus there. There’s no one behind the counter at the moment, but she doesn’t seem concerned about it.

“Here,” she says, passing him one of the menus. “Take your time, there’s a lot of good shit on here.”

Fjord rubs his thumb along the edge of the cardstock and tries to focus on the words. He still feels a bit ill at ease, that useless stain of social anxiety prickling at the nape of his neck, but he manages to corral his focus and comprehend what he’s reading.

“Yo, Caleb!” Beau says suddenly, jarring him from his attempts to decide between a lavender vanilla mocha and a single-origin pour over. “I didn’t know you were working today.”

“Picked up Jester’s shift,” says a low, accented voice. “Sorry you missed her.”

“Oh, it’s whatever, man. Nice to see you, how’s grad life treating you?”

Fjord peeks subtly over the menu as they chat, trying to get a bead on the barista who’s just materialized from the back. He’s slender, made even more so by the black apron strings wound multiple times around his waist, and he looks about as tired as Fjord feels—as tired as the wilted buttondown he’s wearing, rumpled at the collar and folded cuffs like it was picked up off the floor in a hurry. It’s hard to tell his age with the beard and the bags under his eyes. Fjord instinctively wants to put him at Beau’s twenty-two ish, but there’s something about the pull of his brows over deep-set blue eyes that shies away from such a low number. The man—Caleb, Beau had said, right? Or was it Calen?—tucks a flyaway behind his ear and cocks his head in Fjord’s direction. Fjord ducks behind the menu again. “Who’s this? New friend?”

“This is Fjord!” Beau announces loudly, clapping him on the back. Fjord drops the menu and it flutters limply to the countertop. “He’s in a few of my classes, we’re here to caffeinate him. They don’t have coffee in Port Damali,” she stage whispers, and Fjord rolls his eyes, settling into the rhythm of her absurdity.

“The Menagerie Coast _grows_ most of Wildemount’s coffee, Beau,” he informs her.

“That is correct,” Caleb says, looking at Fjord a little more intently now. Fjord fights the urge to suck in the softness he carries around his waist and tips his chin up instead. Maybe if he feigns self-confidence for long enough it’ll recognize the shape of his skin and come to live permanently. “Port Damali, eh? What brought you all the way to Rexxentrum?”

“School,” Fjord says when he remembers he doesn’t obviously look like a student, even with the backpack hanging off one shoulder. “I’m, uh, studying. At Soltryce.”

“Oh!” Caleb’s tired eyes seem to soften at the corners as he smiles. “Grad school? What program are you in?”

“Er, no, just—undergrad.” Fjord fumbles for a moment, wishing he hadn’t dropped the menu like an idiot so he would have something to do with his hands. He casts a desperate glance at Beau, who is watching this exchange with mild amusement. _Lesbians_ , he thinks with some dismay. “I took a gap year.”

“A gap year,” Caleb echoes, brows raised.

“A—a few gap years. To work. Y’know, save money, all that.”

“Right. Of course.” Caleb looks like he might be fighting off a smile, but the beard makes it difficult to tell. Fjord rubs the back of his neck and hopes he’s not blushing hard enough for it to show. Red under green doesn’t make for the prettiest color. “Well, welcome to Rexxentrum, though I guess you’ve been here a month or two by now. Do you know what you’d like to drink? Eat?”

“Um—just a coffee, please,” Fjord says. He’s completely forgotten what he was looking at. “The… fancy kind?”

“Black?” Caleb asks without batting an eye.

“Can I get it with the, uh, foam and stuff?”

“Like a latte? Sure, coming right up. Beau, the usual? Can I interest you in any pastries this afternoon?”

Beau sighs extravagantly. “Yes the usual, no pastries. I gotta cut back, my sensei’s a total hardass.”

Caleb shrugs. “If you say so. Fjord? Anything to eat?”

“No thanks, Caleb,” Fjord says quietly. Caleb gives him a little startled look, like he wasn’t expecting to hear his own name spoken aloud. Then the corner of his mouth curls up and he grabs a pen and a cup and starts to scribble.

“You can grab a seat anywhere,” he says, jerking his chin toward the collection of little tables, “it’s a pretty slow day so I’ll just bring your drinks over when they’re ready. Unless you’re taking them to go?”

“To go, sorry, shoulda said,” Beau says before Fjord can make up an excuse. Another visit or two and he thinks he could learn to be comfortable here, but right now he’s itching to return to the stuffy anonymity of the library stacks.

He drifts along behind as she strides to a nearby table, flops down, and swings her feet up onto an empty chair. “So that’s Caleb,” she says with an errant gesture back toward the counter. “He’s the quietest pervert you’ll ever meet.”

“ _Beauregard_ ,” chides an exasperated Zemnian voice. “You’re such a little—” and the soft scream of the espresso grinder drowns out the rest. Beau smirks.

“Nah, for real, he’s good people. He’s basically my big brother.” She takes out her phone as if to scroll mindlessly through Twitter again, but instead of switching the screen on she just swings it idly back and forth, regarding Fjord through narrowed eyes. He narrows his own right back at her.

“What?”

“I’m trying to remember… you’re like, single, right? Like you’re not seeing anyone?”

Fjord clears his throat. The espresso machines whines down into silence. “Um, no, I’m not. Kinda busy, y’know. With school and everything. And I just moved here, so. Not a lot of time on my hands to find love, or whatever.”

Beau nods with all the gravitas of a wizened cleric. “Of course. Well, when you change your mind, there’s like _so_ many gays on and around campus. It’s like a fuckin’ hotbed of queer people. Did you know they did, like, polls and shit, and they figure Soltryce is the gayest university in the whole Empire?”

“Is that so.” Fjord can feel the tips of his ears burning. She isn’t talking _loudly_ , per se, but the abrupt bend in the conversation feels… pointed. “Believe it or not, that _was_ a factor when I was picking schools.”

“ _It was_?” Beau exclaims, eyes nearly bugging out of her head.

“I did my research, okay? The atmosphere was part of it. Also the Eldritch Studies department has some really amazing professors, an old family friend—”

“Sorry, did you say _Eldritch Studies_?”

Fjord jumps a little and turns, nearly knocking into Caleb. He hadn’t even heard him approach, but here he is, a paper cup in each hand and his freckled cheeks slightly rosy from steam. “Uh,” Fjord says, intelligently. “Yeah. My major.”

Caleb blinks at him and seems to look him up and down as though gathering evidence for something. “Warlock?”

“Yeah.” Without the counter in the way, Fjord realizes he can smell Caleb now, just a trace of sulfur and something vaguely herbal lingering under the mellow acidity of whole coffee beans. “Wizard?”

Caleb’s stoic facade breaks into a wide grin. “How did you know?”

The answer hitches on Fjord’s lips, unspoken. Too embarrassed to admit the real reason, he just shrugs and says, “Lucky guess.”

“Hmm.” Caleb doesn’t look like he believes him, but something—propriety, perhaps, something that Beau flouts on a regular basis—keeps him from arguing the point. “That’s fascinating, I’d love to pick your brain sometime. I know people don’t think there’s too much overlap, but really there’s a common thread in all magic-wielding disciplines, don’t you think?”

“I… I think so, yeah.” He glances at Beau, who’s still staring him down with that keen, inscrutable look. It’s making him nervous. “I’m still pretty new to it, I’m afraid, but I’d be happy to talk about it sometime.”

Caleb smiles again, and it seems to brighten his whole face, like a bit of sun peeking through tired clouds. “Great! Here’s your coffees, good luck with studying and all that.”

“Yeah, you too, Cay.” Beau slaps him on the shoulder as he passes over their paper cups and ducks out of the way of his reach as he swipes at her head. “Ha! Missed me, nerd.”

“Charming,” Caleb murmurs, but he’s smirking a little as he retreats to his place behind the register.

“Thank you,” Fjord calls, to be polite. That pleased, surprised little smile returns.

“How did you find this one, Beau?” Caleb asks. “He’s so… nice.”

“I dunno, but I think I lucked out!” Beau punches Fjord lightly in the shoulder. “Ha! You spelled his name wrong, man.”

Fjord turns his cup to see and shakes his head. Sure enough, _Ford_ is printed there in stark block capitals. “Eh, it’s fine, happens all the time.”

“It’s got a _juh_ in there,” Beau says as she forges toward the door. “Don’t ask me why, it’s silent.”

“It’s for the aesthetic,” Fjord deadpans. He lifts a hand in farewell toward the counter and pushes out into the crisp autumn air with a sigh that tastes like coffee. “He seems nice,” he says offhandedly once they’ve struck out down the sidewalk and he’s in no danger of being overheard.

“He is,” Beau agrees. “A sarcastic fuck, but he’s good. Single, too.”

Fjord misses a step on the cobbles and nearly faceplants. “Sorry, what?”

“What?”

He squints at her out of the corner of his eye, but she only traipses along with an innocent expression, slurping her coffee loud enough to rattle his eardrums. “Nevermind. Thanks for the coffee.”

“Sure, mate. Next one’s on you.”

“Deal.”

><

Fjord doesn’t find his way back to the cafe for a few days. The coffee is _very_ good, it’s true, but he’s busy cramming as much reading material into his half-term paper as possible. Besides, Beau is off campus doing some fancy martial training, and he’s reluctant to go alone. Not that he shies away from doing things by himself, he just… would prefer to have the buffer.

But the day he hands his paper in rolls around, and he leaves class feeling like he deserves a reward. Without quite meaning to, his feet carry him across campus and down the narrow cobbled street that Beau had led him to before. The sky is grey and feels closer to the ground than usual; it starts drizzling a fine pale mist as he starts walking, damping his hair and coat, and by the time he ducks into the cafe with a discordant jangle of the bell overhead, it’s beginning to rain in earnest. He slicks his hair back from his forehead and makes his way to the counter.

He can admit to himself that he’s pleased to see Caleb manning the till again. His red hair is pulled back in a tail today, and his shirt looks a bit fresher, rolled crisply to the elbow and coming loose from where it’s tucked into his jeans as he reaches for something in a high cupboard. Fjord’s eyes roam down to his ass in a leisurely fashion. The jeans fit _very_ well.

“I’ll be right with you,” Caleb tosses over his shoulder in a bland customer service voice, fingers scrabbling.

“Take your time.” Fjord sticks his hands into his pockets. No backpack today, so he feels a little less like he’s taking up too much space. That and handing in the paper are doing wonders for his ego. “D’you want a hand?”

“No, I’ve got—oh, hello.” Caleb drops to his heels, syrup bottle firmly in hand. “I thought I recognized that drawl.”

Fjord rubs the back of his neck. “Kinda distinctive around these parts, huh.”

“A little,” Caleb says with a smile. “Not in a bad way. Back for more, then? I didn’t scare you off before?”

“Of course not. You made me really good coffee and said I was ‘nice.’ What’s to be scared of?”

“I _did_ spell your name wrong, if you’ll recall,” Caleb reminds him. He doesn’t look quite as tired as he did last time, Fjord notes—less bruising beneath the eyes, more of a lift to his freckled cheeks.

Fjord shrugs one shoulder. “Like I said, I’m used to it.”

“Well, we’ll see if I can get it right this time. Don’t tell me!” Caleb adds, holding up a hand to keep Fjord from speaking. “It’s no fun if you give it away.”

Bemused, Fjord folds his arms over his chest. “All right. Uh, I liked what you made last time, whatever it was.”

“The latte? Sure. Would you like a flavor added?”

“Ummmm…”

“D’you have a sweet tooth?”

Heat thuds in Fjord's cheeks, once and then gone, with the effort of not drawing attention to his teeth. “Maybe a little bit.”

“How about I start you with some hazelnut. Everyone likes hazelnut.” Caleb grabs a paper cup from the stack and pumps a shot of syrup into the bottom. “It’ll be right up.”

Not entirely sure what to do with himself, Fjord drifts along the counter, letting the sounds of the espresso machine and milk… frother… _thing_ wash over him. The cafe is a little busier today—the volume of discussion is a bit louder, and while he waits two more people come in and wait in line behind him. Caleb gives them the same _be right with you_ treatment and appears at the other end of the counter.

“Hazelnut latte for Fjord,” he intones, projecting even though Fjord is standing just a few feet away. He leaves him a little smirk and disappears to take the next person’s order.

Fjord wraps his hand around the paper sheath and turns the cup. There, printed in an untidy black scrawl: _Fgord._

That bastard.

“Did I get it right?” Caleb calls as he makes his way to the door, snickering into his scarf.

Fjord turns on his heel at threshold, one hand to the glass. “It’s Fjord with a j,” he shoots back, and ducks out into the cold, a bark of incredulous laughter ringing out behind him.

><

He returns the next day because he has no self control, and because the coffee was _really_ good. He thinks he’d like to be a little more adventurous this time—ask Caleb to surprise him. Also, he has a Deep Speech test to study for, and Beau is busy training at her super selective off-campus gym, so he totes his language primer with him and enters the cafe with a hopeful spring in his step.

His heart falls into his shoes along with the pit of his stomach when he realizes it isn’t Caleb behind the counter—it’s a young blue tiefling girl wearing a bright pink apron. She’s chattering away to what _appears_ to be a customer, though she’s sitting on the counter, heels swinging to and fro with joyful _clunk-clunks_ every time they smack against the wood.

“Oh hello!” the tiefling calls out, even as Fjord’s feet stutter in place and he considers just grabbing a generic coffee and fleeing back to the library. At least it will be quiet there—and, he can admit to himself now, he’s not entirely sold on working at the cafe if there isn’t a certain sarcastic redhead present to entertain him during the slow stretches.

But as he drifts hesitantly to the counter, brain scrambling to come up with something to order (hazelnut latte; a perfectly safe option), the girl perched on the counter leans forward and announces, “Hey! I know you. You’re Fjord-with-a-J.”

Fjord feels his back go stiff as a strung wire. “Uh… yeah, that’s me. Sorry, I don’t think we’ve…”

“Oh I’ve never seen you before in my life,” she says cheerfully. “Caleb mentioned you might be by. Don’t worry, his shift start in uhhhhh…” She counts off on her fingers. “Five minutes ago.”

Fjord tries not to stare—he hasn’t seen many goblins in his lifetime, but he knows how much it sucks to have people looking at you like you’re some kind of freak. The goblin girl apparently has no similar compunctions, and is blinking at him over her thick knobbly scarf like she’s trying to bore holes in his head. He clears his throat and gathers his thoughts into something approaching coherence. “Um. Thanks for the update, I guess?” He’s still reeling that Caleb has apparently _talked to his friends_ about him.

“No problem.” Seeming satisfied, the goblin sticks her hand out for him to shake. “I’m Nott, by the way. And that’s Jester.”

“Nice to meet you,” Fjord says, as politely as he can manage. “You’re friends with Beau, right?”

“Yes we are!” Jester agrees. She leans her elbows on the counter, apparently in no hurry to take his order. “Will you tell her that I said hi? And that she needs to check her text messages?” Her button nose wrinkles in a petulant frown. “I know she’s like suuuuper busy with her super secret special fight club, but I’m pretty sure she still has a little bit of free time to get bubble tea with me sometimes.”

“I’ll let her know.” Fjord runs his claws frenetically over the fraying seam of his jeans pocket. He’s just starting to wonder if it would be impolite to turn and walk out when the door swings open and a scatter of hurried footsteps blow by him so quick he doesn’t have time to see who it is. He manages to spy a shock of auburn hair and a flash of white trainers and then Jester is straightening up and brushing her apron off and saying, cheerfully, “Well it was nice to meet you, Fjord with a J! Looks like my shift is up. Ready, Nott?”

“Yup!” With alacrity, Nott jumps off the counter and nicks one of the pre-wrapped chocolate-dipped rice crispy treats sitting out by the register. She tips Fjord a wink and stuffs it into her pocket. “Have a good day at work, Caleb!”

“Thanks!” comes a strangled call from the back.

Fjord glances around the cafe. It’s fairly busy today—just shy of what Fjord would consider _bustling_ —and yet none of them seem overly concerned with the antics of the baristas. He drags his fingers thoughtfully along the counter until they snag on a menu. Maybe he’ll get something to eat today. Put some brain fuel in the old tank.

“Sorry for the wait!” Caleb wheezes, materializing suddenly by the register like the ghost of essays past. “I was, um, running late.”

“It’s okay.” Fjord blinks, taking him in. He looks like he ran all the way from the bus stop, hair flopping around his face and cheeks high with color, chest still heaving slightly as he pants for breath. He’s not wearing his usual buttondown-with-rolled-up-sleeves ensemble today; instead he’s got a soft-looking raglan on under his apron, well-worn with use and sitting slightly askew at the neck to expose a stretch of collarbone. There are freckles there, too. “You didn’t have to rush for me, you know.”

“Who said it was for you?” Caleb asks with a winning smile. He grabs a paper cup and scribbles something on the back of it—Fjord’s name, presumably. Or some variation thereof. “I was supposed to be at work a while ago, but my cat fell asleep on my chest and I couldn’t bear to shove him off. You know how it is.”

“Oh.” Fjord feels absurdly disappointed at this revelation. “You’ve got a cat?”

“Yes. His name is Frumpkin.” The pleased little crinkles around his eyes go slack. “Not a cat person, huh?”

“I mean, I’ve never really been able to find out,” Fjord confesses. “I’m allergic. Really allergic.”

Caleb’s shoulders deflate an inch or two. “Ah. I am sorry to hear that.”

“It’s all right,” Fjord says quickly. _Shouldn’t have brought it up, idiot._ “I have allergy pills that work great.” Or he would if he bothered to get his prescription filled. Maybe he should look into that.

“Oh.” Caleb is smiling again, just a little. It feels like a secret kind of smile, one just for him. Fjord bounces a little on his toes. “That’s good. Well, I don’t mean to keep you waiting—what can I get for you?”

“I was about to ask you the same question. Er, I mean—I was going to ask you for a recommendation.”

“Ah! I can do that. You liked the hazelnut, _ja_?”

“Yeah, very much. It was… maybe a little sweet?”

Caleb’s dark brows furrow together in thought. “Yes, all right. And the caffeine level?”

Fjord shrugs one shoulder. “Could be higher.”

“Noted.” He punches a few keys into the register and the total comes up on the screen. “One mystery drink, coming right up.”

Instead of waiting at the counter for pickup, Fjord turns his attention to the cafe itself. There’s a nice little table tucked out of the way, near the windows, so he makes his way there and begins to set up shop. He’s just cracking into his Deep Speech flashcards when a shadow falls across the table and a paper cup is set in front of him, one freckled thumb placed neatly over the name.

“One latte with a spoon of cocoa and an extra shot of espresso for Fjord with a J,” says Caleb with a little smirk. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were staying or I would have given you a real cup and saucer.”

“No worries,” Fjord says. Then he sees the name written on the cup and coughs with laughter. _Jord_. “Uh…”

“Problem?” Caleb asks innocently.

Fjord taps his claws on the tabletop, struggling to keep his cool. “You, uh. You spelled my name wrong.”

Syrupy-sweet regret melts across Caleb’s face like chocolate. “Oh, dear, I’m so sorry. I was _so_ sure I got it right this time.”

Fjord shakes his head. “Guess you’ll just have to keep trying.”

><

He wants to stretch it out. Make it last. Pretend he doesn’t have the most embarrassing crush on a near-stranger he’s ever had in his life. But the very next day he’s wandering back, feet dragging slow against the cobbles as if trying to convince him he’s making a mistake. It helps that Beau said she would meet him there in between classes. He’s pretty sure she knows exactly what’s going on and is giving him an excuse to go and spend too much money on some coffee with milk just because he likes a particular smile. A particular pair of blue eyes.

He doesn’t even have the energy to pretend to be surprised when he rolls up to the cafe ten minutes late to find Beau absent. His heart skips a beat with disappointment to see the tiefling girl behind the counter, but it smooths out into calm again when he sees a familiar auburn head bowed over a book at a corner table. He hesitates a moment, scanning again for Beau just in case. His phone buzzes in his pocket.

_Can’t make it after all dude, sry. Say hi to caleb for me xoxo ;)_

Right. Onward, then.

He telegraphs his approach with heavier footsteps than usual and an “accidental” bump against an empty chair, and when he makes it to Caleb’s table, Caleb is looking up and grinning to see him. “Hello, Fjord. Fancy meeting you here.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without an apron on,” Fjord teases.

“Yeah, I’m on my break.” Caleb nudges the chair opposite him with his foot. “Care to sit? Or did you want to order something—” His eyes fall on the bag slung over Fjord’s shoulder. “Sorry, you probably came to study. Don’t let me distract you.”

“You’re not a distraction!” Fjord says quickly before realizing that, well… “I mean, you are, a little. Um. But not in a bad way.”

“Oh.” Caleb bites his lip. If he’s trying to keep himself from smiling, he’s not doing a very good job. “Well in that case, I insist.”

Like a string tied around his waist, Fjord feels a little tug in his gut that prompts him to sit without further prevaricating. His anxiety spikes as he thinks of what to say, and then his eyes fall on Caleb’s book, held slightly open with his thumb. “What are you reading?”

Caleb, already slightly pink-cheeked, blushes even further. “Just a bit of light reading to pass the time. It helps to read nonsense between textbooks. Gives my brain a rest.”

“That’s a very nice non-answer,” Fjord says, and smiles when Caleb laughs sheepishly.

“All right, you’ve got me.” He closes the book, keeping his finger in place between the pages, and shows him the cover. “Like I said. Nonsense.”

Fjord blinks. It’s quite obviously a romance novel of some description: the art on the front is a fanciful rendition of two men in an amorous embrace, dressed in outfits that are clearly inspired by the artist’s supposition of what sailors might have worn a few hundred years ago. The title curls across the top in ornate font, and it takes him a moment to make it out. “ _The Salty Sea_ ,” he reads aloud. He can’t help smirking a little. “It certainly looks entertaining.”

“Oh, it is. Entertaining and terrible.” Caleb is still ruddy-cheeked, but seems a little less embarrassed in the face of Fjord’s reaction. “I’m sure it’s not very historically accurate, but.” He shrugs. “I’m not exactly a historian.”

Fjord waves a hand. “Suspension of disbelief, right? Anyway, I doubt anyone looking for smut cares much about historical accuracy.”

“Some people do,” Caleb objects mildly, “but I get enough of that in my studies, thanks. I’m not interested in, um… _educational_ smut.”

“Edubation?” Fjord suggests.

There’s a beat of shocked silence and then Caleb bursts into laughter, stifling it a bit too slowly—one of the patrons a few tables over gives them a dirty look. Fjord grins and doesn’t protest the gentle kick under the table.

“Right,” Caleb wheezes. “I think it’s time for me to get back to work, do you want anything to drink? It’s on me.”

“What? Oh, god no, I couldn’t—”

“Please.” Surprisingly earnest, Caleb reaches across the table and squeezes his hand. “It’s not a big deal, I get free drinks. One of the perks.”

“All… all right.” Slightly stunned by the touch of Caleb’s warm hand, Fjord sits back and watches Caleb navigate the tables with easy, practiced turns of his hips. He chats lightly with Jester behind the counter, a little too far out of earshot for him to make their conversation out; but the way Jester’s eyes flit to Fjord’s table makes it clear they’re talking about _him_.

To stave off the awkwardness, Fjord reaches for the book Caleb left behind. The back professes it to be _the greatest romance of a generation_ , though the plot seems rather skimpy to Fjord’s eye—as skimpy as the shirts the sailors are wearing on the front. He turns to the page Caleb had been saving and blushes. The prose is certainly… colorful. It’s not his usual preferred reading material, but he makes a note of the author anyway—something something Darrington—and puts the book back on the table, careful to save the page with a clean napkin.

While he waits for his coffee, he pulls out his Deep Speech notes and flips half-heartedly through them. He keeps meaning to make proper flashcards, but has never gotten around to it, so he just folds over the page and runs through vocab, mumbling the pronunciations in the back of his throat.

Someone clears their throat softly next to him and he startles upright. “You’re back! Uh, that was fast.”

Caleb’s lips nearly disappear behind his beard as he tries not to laugh. “Not really. We had a few real customers show up suddenly, but. Here you are. Lavender mocha, easy on the mocha.” He sets the paper cup down in front of him. “Thanks for saving my place, by the way.”

Fjord glances across the table at the book sitting innocently face-up. “No problem. Do you want me to, um. Keep it for you?”

“Nah, I can take it. Unless you’d care to read it?”

“Oh, no, that’s all right. You should finish it first.” He can’t help glancing at Caleb’s neat little waist, once again wrapped in a tidy black apron. He pushes down thoughts of putting his hands around those hips and clears his throat. “You can tell me how it ends.”

“Oh, I think we all know how it ends,” Caleb mutters.

Fjord snickers. “Fair enough.” His eyes fall to the cup. Lavender mocha. Hadn’t that been the thing he’d been eyeing on the first day? He picks it up and brings it to his nose to smell it, and his eyes fall on the black lettering inked into the side.

_Floyd._

Fjord snorts, then laughs aloud. “What is it gonna take,” he says, tapping a finger against the incorrect name, “to get you to spell it right?”

Caleb’s eyes glint with stifled amusement. “I don’t know.” His voice is so low that Fjord can scarcely hear him. “Maybe you should spell it out for me.”

“You’re a smart man,” Fjord murmurs. He can feel himself blushing, heat crawling up his cheeks, but the simmer in Caleb’s blue eyes gives him the courage to add, “I think you can figure it out just fine.”

“What if… I asked you _very_ nicely?”

Fjord pretends to consider this. “How nice are we talkin’?”

At the front of the shop, the bell over the door rings out like a foghorn on a still night. Fjord jumps, and Caleb straightens up in a hurry, cheeks slightly pink under his freckles. “I should get back to work. Here,” he says, voice a little hitched, strained by the transition back to customer service professional. He grabs a pen from his apron and a napkin and scribbles something onto it. “I have class after my shift but I’m free this evening if you want to get a drink?”

Fjord stares at the napkin. It’s a number. Ostensibly, _Caleb’s_ number. “I—yeah,” he says, more eagerly than he should, but the crinkle of Caleb’s smile is worth it. “Yes. I’ll text you.”

“Please do,” Caleb murmurs. And that’s that. The polite veneer washes over him, stiffening the set of his shoulders like plaster hardening over canvas, and he returns to his post behind the cash register.

Fjord stares at his notes for a second or two before realizing, to his chagrin, that he’s no longer in any sort of headspace for studying. He holds his breath as he packs up his things out of sheer excitement and terror. The cold, when he steps out into it, is a slap in the face, and it helps shake him out of it a little; as soon as the door falls shut behind him he can breathe again. He stands on the sidewalk and looks at the number. A bit smeared from his sweaty thumb, but still legible. He pulls out of his phone and types it carefully into the _New_ _Contact_ field. It occurs to him that he doesn’t know Caleb’s last name, and he makes a mental note to ask Beau about it. Then he fires off the text.

_It’s F-J-O-R-D. Like the body of water._

His phone buzzes in his pocket just as he’s reaching campus. Twice. At the bus stop he pauses and takes a look at his screen.

 _Fjord. I like it. I will remember this time._ And,

_You were cute standing outside to text me right away._

Fjord blushes again, though it’s harder to feel under the sting of the wind against his cheeks. His thumbs worry over the edges of his phone case as he tries to think of what to say. _Bzz._

_Sorry, that was sappy._

The right words come to him then like magic. _I don’t mind. You’re pretty cute yourself._

The only response is a smiley emoji, with little pink cheeks like it’s blushing. Then nothing. Understandable, since he’s at work. Blushing a little himself, Fjord stuffs his phone into his pocket and walks briskly all the way to the bus stop.

><

“Oh my god, finally!”

Fjord stares at her, nonplussed. “What do you mean _finally?_ ”

“You’ve been making eyes at each other since I introduced you!” Beau exclaims. “It’s fuckin’ fate, man. I’m telling you.” She slides her tray along the salad bar and starts loading up with marinated tofu. “So what’s the scoop? You getting drinks or what?”

“Yeah. We’re meeting at the Rex later.”

Beau stares at him over the chickpeas. “The _Rex_ , dude? What, are you not legal or something?”

A little bit of Fjord’s bubbly, champagne-happy mood dissolves. “It’s not that bad, is it? I’ve only been a few times, and he suggested it…”

“Nah, man, it’s totally fine,” Beau says quickly, busying herself with assembling her dinner. “I’m sure you’ll have fun getting wasted on jello shots with all the underclassmen.”

Fjord stares at his tray. He’d been starting on a salad, mostly going through the motions, too distracted to really concentrate, but now the lump of lettuce and soggy cucumber slices looks utterly appalling. He can’t fathom eating anything tonight. He tips his plate discreetly into the trash and sighs. “You’re right. It’s dumb, I should figure out somewhere nicer.”

“What? No!” Looking genuinely distressed now, Beau grabs his arm and drags him over to an empty table. “Listen. You don’t have to _go out_ anywhere, okay? I know Caleb, he’s as broke as anyone else. He doesn’t care about fancy shit. Just have him over or something, drink a couple beers, watch some Netflix, talk about life and, and smut.” She gives his shoulder a brisk pat. “You’re overthinking it. Just relax. And eat some pizza or something, for goodness sake, you look terrible.”

“Thanks,” Fjord snaps. He makes a face and puts his head on the table. “Sorry, I’m just nervous. I don’t know… how to do this?”

There’s a bit of quiet, and then Beau’s chair squeaks unpleasantly as she scoots it across the floor to be closer to him. “How to do what?”

“How to be… smooth.”

“Smooth? Dude you don’t have to be _smooth_ , you got his number by being your awkward adorable self! And look, Caleb isn’t exactly smooth himself. I don’t know how he fooled you into thinking he was cool, but he’s the biggest dork on the planet, I promise. Hell, he suggested _the Rex_ as a place to meet.”

Fjord peels his forehead off the table and sits back in his chair with a sigh. He must really look bad, because Beau’s face is rumpled with concern and she’s leaning toward him like she’s prepared to catch his deadweight if he topples out of his chair in despair. _Lesbians_ , he thinks, far more charitably than last time. “You’re a good egg, Beau. You know that, right?”

Beau wrinkles her nose. “I’ve been told the exact opposite of that about a million times, but thanks, bro.” She punches him lightly on the shoulder. “Listen, about Caleb. He’s a good guy. He’s been through some shit, but he’s on the other side now. I’m kind of a bitch, but I know how to read people, and I can tell you’re… maybe in the same boat. You guys are gonna hit it off. Romantically, I mean. You’re obviously already buddy-buddy, with your shitty inside jokes and everything.”

Fjord glances at her face, trying to read the room, but she’s relaxed and smiling a little, so she must not be _actually_ pissed off. “Is this the part where you tell me not to break his heart or you’ll suplex me into next week?”

“Pff. Please.” She waves a hand. “You’re the biggest sweetheart I’ve ever met. I’m not worried.”

As if by magic, Fjord’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He fumbles for it, grateful to escape the warm, prickly embarrassment of Beau’s sincerity, and sees Caleb’s name waiting for him on the screen.

_Hey are we still on for tonight? I’m running a little late and haven’t had dinner, so we might not miss the freshman rush after all. [eyeroll emoji]_

“Is it him?” Beau asks, leaning over his shoulder to see. “What’d he say?”

“Hang on! Hang on, I have to do this myself.”

Brow furrowed in concentration, Fjord types back: _No worries! I haven’t eaten yet either actually, did you maybe want to swing by my place and I can fix us something?_

“Ooooh, nice,” Beau coos. “And you said you weren’t smooth.”

“Shut up!” He elbows her (gently) out of the way and watches with bated breath as an animated ellipsis appears at the bottom of the screen.

_I don’t want you to go out of your way…_

Fjord smiles. _It’s not out of my way. I like to cook for people, and I don’t really get the chance anymore. You’d be doing me a favor._

_How can I say no? :) What’s your address?_

Fjord gives it to him, and they arrange for Caleb to come by about an hour from now.

Then the panic sets in.

“What the fuck.” He puts his head back down on the table. “Beau, what the _fuck_ am I doing?”

“You’re doing _great_ is what you’re doing! C’mon man, chin up.” Another whack to the shoulder, this one a little less gentle. Fjord sits up so he can pout at her and rub the injured area, and all he gets is a sing-song, “Somebody’s gettin’ booooooned tonight!”

“ _Beau_.” With an indignant huff to mask the curl of warm interest in his gut, Fjord pushes back from the table. “Okay, I gotta… I gotta get a few things from the corner store, figure out what I’m making.”

“Sure thing, man, good luck!” She throws him a flippant salute and a smirk. “Don’t forget to use protection!”

“Fuck _off_ , Beau,” he says, way more fondly than she deserves. He’s suddenly far less anxious. A little bit nervous, sure, but hell—cooking for people is what he _does_ , it paid the bills for years in between shipping jobs, and he knows he’s good at it. Now he just has to figure out _what_ to make.

 _What kind of food do you like?_ He fires off the text as he strides from the mess hall, mentally running the calculations.

 _Anything,_ is the immediate response. Then, _don’t worry, i’m not a vegetarian ;)_

Fjord flushes to the tips of his ears. _Good to know. :)_

><

He has most of the stuff for tacos at home, so he grabs a few things from the tiny grocer at the end of his street and immediately sets to making dough for tortillas. Thank goodness his place is actually clean—his brief stint on a Navy vessel after high school molded him into a bit of a neat freak.

The rhythm of kneading dough and rolling it out into little rounds for frying soothes him, and he follows that thread of calm, making a whole batch of little tortillas before moving on to chopping and dicing the vegetables. His little window ledge herb garden is starting to bear fruit, and the tang of fresh cilantro being crushed from the stem clears his head and sets his mouth to watering. On the counter, his phone is quiet. He wonders if Caleb is on the bus right now, or if he he’s still at his dorm. Is he dithering over what to wear, what cologne to use? Fjord hopes not. Caleb was adorable the very first day they met in his rumpled day-old shirt with bags under his eyes. Fond, fuzzy warmth fills his chest at the memory, followed by a spike of intrigue at the thought of Caleb’s rumpled shirt on the floor of _Fjord’s_ room instead.

His phone buzzes on the counter. _I’m outside._

With hands that tremble only a little, Fjord brushes smudges of flour from his shirt and gives himself a once-over in the reflective surface of the microwave. His hair is still tidy, and his shirt and jeans are clean. He pops a mint leaf into his mouth and chews vigorously as he makes his way to the door. _Should I have changed my shirt?_ he thinks. _Too late now._ He swallows the mint and opens the door.

Caleb stands on the doorstep, framed in the dwindling autumn daylight that paints the sky lavender behind him. His hair is properly down for once, curling slightly around his ears, and his beard looks freshly trimmed, half-hidden behind the bulky grey scarf wound twice around his neck. Fjord wonders if it’s as soft as it looks.

“Hi,” he says, only a little bit stupidly.

“Hello.” Caleb is smiling shyly, hands in the pockets of his coat and hair drifting gently in the breeze, illuminated by the setting sun until it seems to glow gold around the edges like a halo. “Fjord with a J.”

Fjord exhales a little laugh. “D’you want to come in?”

Caleb inclines his head. His eyes drift overtly down from Fjord’s face as he steps back into the house, lingering on the stretch of his shirt over his chest. Fjord breathes in, settles into the warmth being kindled in his bones, and god, he can _smell_ him now—no cologne after all, just a bit of faded scent that must have been applied in the morning, a touch of aftershave, the mellow familiarity of roasting coffee beans clinging to his clothes. And underneath all that, the subtle perk of interest. A bit of salt, a bit of musk. Caleb pulls at his scarf, plucks open the top button his coat, and another wave of it hits Fjord like a train barreling down the tracks. Pure, unadulterated _want._

The door shuts behind them and it feels like a switch has been decisively flipped. All the pent-up energy that’s been building between them releases at once, creating a magnetic field that draws them together. Fjord opens his mouth to ask something, for permission maybe, but Caleb is already leaning into his space and then his hands are on Fjord’s shoulders, pulling him down into a kiss.

Caleb’s hair is so soft between his fingers. Fjord drags his claws over his scalp and smiles against his mouth at Caleb’s full-body shiver. The soft, damp press of his lips grows warm and wet as Caleb licks into his mouth and Fjord hums, pressing back against the slim weight of his body. The wall is just a step or two away—it’s easy to guide him there with a gentle tug to his hair, a nudge to his chest. Caleb follows his lead and groans as Fjord eases a thigh between his, hands dropping to clutch at his hips.

When he withdraws, slowly, Caleb pursues his reluctant retreat, leaning up to nip at his lips. Fjord can feel the blood rushing south; tastes him in the back of his throat. Caleb licks his lips and grins, chest heaving with every breath. “Nice place you’ve got.”

“Sorry,” Fjord blurts, even though Caleb’s every aspect is strained toward _yes_ and _please_. His thumbs flirt with the bare skin peeking from beneath Caleb’s shirt hem. “I… coffee?”

Caleb’s eyebrows shoot up and he laughs—not mocking him, but giddy and thick with affection, and it triggers a similar bubbly-champagne feeling in Fjord’s chest. “I think I’m good on coffee,” he murmurs. He slides his open palms up Fjord’s chest and drapes his arms over his shoulders with a small, subtle forward arch of his hips. “You could kiss me again, though. If you wanted.”

Fjord wants. Badly. And he’s starting to feel just how much Caleb wants _him_ , feel the growing hardness in his jeans that has begun to press with increasing insistence into Fjord’s thigh. He adjusts his stance a little, rubbing up against him _almost_ incidentally, and watches with primal satisfaction as Caleb’s skin flushes darker and his nostrils flare on an inhale. “Yeah,” he says, his voice rumbling out of him a few steps lower than usual. “I think I’d like that.”

He leans down, intending to do just that, and startles to a stop when Caleb lays a gentle finger to his chin. “Wait… is that _flour_ on your nose?”

“I—is it? Shit, sorry.” He pulls back, wiping at his nose with the back of his hand. “I was making tacos. Um. Sorry, did you want to… have dinner? I don’t know why I said coffee just now, that doesn’t make any sense…”

“Hey. It’s okay.” Caleb smiles up at him, eyes still smokey-grey and smudged with intrigue. “I didn’t mean to just… spring on you like that.”

“I didn’t mind. _Don’t_ mind.” Fjord swallows. Despite the hitch in their forward momentum, he’s still sporting a half-chub in his jeans, and from the way Caleb is licking his lips it’s clear that they’re on the same track. “If you’re hungry, we can eat now, or…”

“ _Or_?” Caleb echoes.

“Or, um.” Fjord’s thumb finds the divot of Caleb’s hip beneath his shirt, exposed by the open placket of his long wool coat, and watches in real time as Caleb’s eyes darken even further. “I mean, there’s nothing that won’t keep for later…”

“Perfect.”

Without any hesitation this time, Caleb reaches up and pulls Fjord down to meet his lips. The beard _is_ soft, Fjord notices now, and smells faintly woodsy and warm. He burrows his nose into his as they kiss, and hums around Caleb’s smile. Under his hands, Caleb’s skin is warm and soft and inviting; after a few moments of drawing slow, careful spirals with his thumbs, Fjord gathers his courage and slips his hands under Caleb’s shirt entirely, holding that soft little waist in a tender grip. Caleb moans and arches forward.

“Fjord…”

“Mmm.” Fjord sucks his lower lips into his mouth, slow and gentle, and nibbles a bit before withdrawing with a wet smack. “This okay?”

“ _Ja_ , fuck, more than okay.” Caleb tangles his fingers in Fjord’s hair and rocks up onto his toes to kiss him again. It’s easy now to squeeze at him, to hold him up to the wall by his hips and nudge his leg between Caleb’s thighs. Caleb sucks at his tongue and drags blunt nails through his hair with a groan. “ _Fuck_ , Fjord, your hands…”

Fjord hums and pulls away just long enough to reorient himself around the pale column of Caleb’s throat. The stubble there scrapes his lips and he scrapes the skin in turn, dragging his tongue over Caleb’s pulse point and sucking a bright red mark beneath his scarf. Caleb cries out softly and he withdraws.

“Sorry—sorry, I should’ve asked first—”

“No, it’s fine, please.” Caleb’s hands drop unselfconsciously to his chest and linger there, feeling up the breadth and firmness of Fjord’s pecs. He can’t help flexing a little, proud of the strength that still infuses his body after years of hard work on the docks in Port Damali. Caleb giggles. “Show-off.”

“Saw you lookin’,” Fjord says with a little shrug. “Can I, uh. Take your coat?”

“Oh yes _please_.” He’s already wriggling out of it, a move that incidentally rubs his stiffy against Fjord’s thigh. His breath comes a little shorter in his chest, and the blush in his cheeks creeps south down his neck to where his tidy blue buttondown is open to expose a bit of freckled sternum. “Can I take your shirt?”

Fjord chokes on laughter, feeling the tips of his ears heat. “I mean. Yeah. D’you want to relocate to somewhere more comfortable?”

“ _Ja_ , that would be lovely.” Caleb unwinds his scarf from his neck. Without it, and without the silhouette of his coat, he looks smaller and more fragile than before, but still illuminated from within by the flush of arousal. The smear of red from Fjord’s mouth is like a beacon at the crook of his neck, not quite hidden by his shirt collar. A stab of possessiveness uncoils in Fjord’s belly, hot and curious, a little rusty with disuse. Caleb sees him looking and smiles. “What?”

Fjord inhales and holds onto it. How to explain the dregs of instinct that march along his spine sometimes, useless to him now but still subtly present beneath his skin like the shapes of long-dead temples buried beneath the sand? How to explain an ancient history now collared and bridled by the marvels of modern medicine, but tenacious, exposing itself through his desire when he least expects it?

“You’re just,” he begins, trying to frame his scattered thoughts around some central, fixed point, “you’re really. Beautiful.” He grimaces and turns away to the coat rack. “Sorry, that’s not really what a guy likes to hear, is it.”

He hears a gentle scoff from behind him. “It’s what _I_ like to hear, so what does it matter?” Hands on Fjord’s hips, slim and gentle, and the smudge of what might be a kiss against his shoulder blade. “I like you a lot, Fjord. And I think you like me, _ja_? So let’s just ride it and see where it goes.”

Fjord’s hands tighten on the drape of Caleb’s coat, now safely hanging off a peg, and he can’t help the huff of quiet laughter that bubbles out of him like steam from a kettle. “I’m always down to go for a ride,” he says, enjoying the feel of Caleb’s hands staying with him as he turns around.

Caleb’s eyebrows lift to his hairline and a smile plays at his lips as he fondles Fjord’s belt. “Is that so?”

“Or, y’know. The other way around.” His face is on _fire_ now, ears twitching against his skull, but what does it matter when Caleb’s fingers are hooked into his belt loops and Caleb’s smiling mouth is tilting up to meet with his? “Whatever you want,” he breathes, itching under his arms with sweat and desire, “whatever, whatever…”

“Bed,” Caleb exhales like a punch. “Please.”

“Yeah. Let’s… yeah.” In a feat of courage that only finds him in the unbashful touch of Caleb’s hands, Fjord grabs his thighs and boosts him up into his arms. Caleb laughs, bright and startled and joyful, and wraps his arms around Fjord’s shoulders, snuggling close enough that their bellies push together on the inhale.

Caleb’s heavier than he looks, but not so heavy that Fjord has trouble carrying him down the hall to the bedroom. He didn’t make his bed today, but the sheets are just a few days out from fresh and they smell clean and nice when he drops Caleb gently onto them, crawling up the mattress to crouch over him at his behest. Caleb tugs impatiently at his shirt and Fjord obliges him, wrestling free of it before leaning back down to kiss his pouting mouth.

“Gods,” Caleb sighs, hands greedy on Fjord’s chest. One leg pops up to rest at the bend of Fjord’s waist, ankle to the sturdy meat of his hip. “The reality of you far exceeds my imagination.”

Fjord scrapes a kiss to his collarbone and looks up through his lashes, charmed by his old-fashioned turn of phrase. “You imagined this?”

“Of course. Have you _seen_ yourself?” He licks his lips _again_ , distracting, putting _ideas_ in Fjord’s head. “The minute you walked into the cafe I thought you were hot as fffuu— _fuck_!”

Fjord hums a question, mouth occupied with kissing up under the hem of Caleb’s shirt. He rubs his thumb over the button of his fly. “Yeah?”

Caleb is hard in his jeans. It looks a bit painful, actually—he wears a snugger fit than Fjord prefers for himself, and the curve of his dick against the zipper is prominent as Fjord’s hand drifts over it without quite touching. “You,” Caleb breathes, “are driving me crazy.”

“Good, it’s working.” Grinning and pleased with himself, Fjord molds his hand to the shape of him through his clothes. Caleb drops his head down to the mattress and heaves for breath, rocking his hips into Fjord’s grasp. “Can I take your clothes off, sweetheart?”

“ _Oh_ , he’s a gentleman. _Please_ do, I am at—at your disposal.”

Somewhat out of breath, Caleb wriggles upright just enough to tear his way out of his shirt, cursing as he fumbles with the tiny pearl buttons. Fjord, meanwhile, busies himself down below, popping the button open on his fly and sliding the tongue of the zipper down slow, careful not to catch anything. And it’s a good thing he did—Caleb’s underwear is very thin, very soft cotton, a dark heather grey brief that does little to conceal what strains beneath it. There’s a tiny telltale wet spot that draws his eye, and his nose. With a contented rumble, Fjord lowers his face and rubs his open mouth over the spot, feeling out the girth of his erection.

“ _Fjord_ ,” Caleb whines. He shoves at his jeans ineffectually and groans in relief as Fjord takes over, peeling them down his hips and off entirely. “I’m—we should—condom?”

“I’ve got it.” Any fears about seeming too eager fly out the window as Fjord rummages in his bedside table and returns, triumphant, with a little square package. He pauses to squint at the fine print. “I think this is the right kind…”

Caleb huffs a strangled laugh, already halfway out of his briefs, skinny thighs splayed and struggling prettily. “What—what other kind is there? It’s not expired or something?”

“No, just—” Fjord grinds to a halt, hot with embarrassment. “Well, I’ve got kinds for, um, regular junk, and kinds for… me.”

Caleb wiggles his eyebrows. “XXL?”

“Ha… sort of.” Fjord peels the package open and kneels on the bed between Caleb’s thighs. He’s fully nude, now, shockingly pale and freckled against Fjord’s midnight blue bedspread, with a surprising amount of body hair down his chest and belly and around his cock. Speaking of which. He’s got a loose hand around it and is tugging idly, eyes dark and focused on Fjord’s bare chest, and it’s a shocking reminder that Fjord has business to attend to. He clears his throat and tries to get his brain back on track. “Half-orc, y’know. So.”

Understanding dawns in Caleb’s eyes, and is immediately stifled by a grunt of surprise as Fjord tucks his hand out of the way and rolls the condom on. “I—ngh. I see. I didn’t want to, er, make a big deal out of it, but… I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t… _interested_.”

Fjord can’t help but laugh at Caleb’s blushing reticence. “It’s all right. It feels pretty damn good from what I’ve been told.” He braces his hands on the mattress and leans over him, watching the delicate flutter of his diaphragm like it’s the dapple of sunlight through clear water. “I’ll show you in a sec if you want, but right now I’d really like to suck your dick.”

Caleb eyes his mouth, and for a second Fjord is braced for a rebuttal and a demand to inspect his teeth—it’s a concern he’s faced before, to his frustration, even before he stopped filing his tusks down on a regular basis—but Caleb only reaches up and tugs at the longer curls on top of his head, directing him down over his crotch. “Be my guest.”

The gentle pressure of Caleb’s hand is more suggestion than command, but it sparks a delicious thrill down his spine nonetheless as he bows and takes his cock into his mouth. He fits nicely between his growing tusks all the way to the back of his throat. Fjord moans around the weight of him on his tongue and sinks his fingers into Caleb’s spread thighs, pulling him wider. The angle is perfect—crouched over him like this, it’s easy to open his throat and sink down until his nose is mashed against Caleb’s belly, tickled by the lush thatch of carrot-orange hair there. Fjord swallows, relishing the thickness of him, and withdraws slowly, until the tip of Caleb’s dick is no more than a gentle weight against his lower lip.

“Holy _fuck_ ,” Caleb whispers. His hand drops from Fjord’s hair to touch his mouth instead, slipping inside to probe his tongue. Fjord sucks on that, too, and enjoys the way Caleb’s flush begins to bloom down his chest. “Aren’t you talented.”

Fjord mumbles a contented noise and bows his head again. Caleb’s dick is long and not terribly thick, which makes for a pleasant, relatively seamless deepthroat—when he really wants to choke on it he can linger, and when he wants Caleb to fuck his throat all he has to do is relax and let him have at it, feet braced against the mattress and lungs heaving for breath as he pistons his hips up into Fjord’s face.

Then he collapses back to the mattress with a choked sound and lays still, one hand around the base of his dick. The condom, sloppy with Fjord’s saliva, is transparent enough to show the purplish-red hue of the head, the throbbing veins along the underside. Fjord’s own cock aches in sympathy.

“Cay,” he begins, voice gone husky with use. “Everything okay?”

“Everything—is bloody _fine_ ,” Caleb gasps. “But I don’t wanna cum yet. C’mere. Kiss me, you ridiculous, talented fucking—mmf!”

Fjord kisses him hungrily, eager for a taste of his lips. It makes a nice change from the faint plastic flavor of the condom, and he can’t help whining and clawing at the bedding as Caleb tugs at his nipples and urges him forward with a heel to his ass.

“How the fuck are your pants still on,” he mumbles. “Come on, come on…”

Fjord sits back on his heels a bit and watches as Caleb’s clever fingers work open his jeans and shove them down his hips. He’s so hard he’s peeking out the top of his boxers, and when Caleb rubs the head he can feel a little surge of fluid well up and smear against his fingers. “Fuck…”

“Fuck is right.” Caleb licks his lips and stares up at him, thumb against his frenulum like a gun to the back of his head. “You said something about a ride, big boy?”

He shudders on the exhale. “Yeah.”

“You want to plough me into the mattress, then?” His thumb and forefinger form a circle and fit in a neat ring just under the head of his dick, rolling the foreskin back and forth with each pull. “Or did you want to sit on my cock?”

 _Yes—both—all_ , Fjord thinks in disjointed, overlapping harmony. But the twitch of his cock in Caleb’s grip gives him away. “Please,” he gasps. “I—fuck. Just… give me a minute.”

“Take your time.”

Caleb’s eyes traverse him, dark and appreciative, as he slips off the bed and pads to the bathroom. As soon as the door drifts half-shut behind him, Fjord leans hard against the sink and grabs for a washcloth. He showered this morning, but it’s only polite to be a little more thorough.

A few minutes later he returns, a fresh condom in hand for himself, and he has to take a moment to appreciate the view. Caleb has reoriented himself with his head on the pillows, propped up a bit to expose the ruddy glow of his sex flush. His legs are sprawled wide to give him better access as he pumps his cock slowly with one hand and rubs a saliva-slick thumb to his hole with the other.

“Hey.” He grins, pink-cheeked and heavy-lidded, and slides his foot along the sheets. “C’mere.”

That string is back, gentle but insistent. It pulls at somewhere deep in Fjord’s chest and drags him forward inexorably until he’s straddling Caleb’s thighs and bending down to kiss him. Caleb moans and wraps his arms around Fjord’s neck, mouth open and eager. The rasp of his beard and the soft wet of his tongue work in tandem, easing Fjord down from his nervous plateau to a deeper, more comfortable valley, and his hands don’t shake at all as he rolls the condom on, fitting the seal past his knot.

“Okay,” Caleb breathes with a little self-conscious laugh, “I’m lost. What are we doing?”

Fjord glances down at Caleb’s dick, lying hard and flushed against his abdomen. “I was gonna… sit on your cock, if that’s okay?”

“Hff! It’s more than okay.” Caleb squeezes Fjord’s thighs and drops one hand to his dick, teasing the swollen base. “I just got confused—you like to keep things tidy, then?”

“I—oh! Yeah, sorry.” He rocks his hips forward and hums as Caleb’s grip slides up and down his length. “It gets kinda messy when I play with my knot and, um. You seemed interested in doin’ that, so. Better safe than sorry.”

Caleb grins and slides the ring of his fingers over Fjord’s knot. They don’t meet in the middle by a long shot—there’s at least an inch between his thumb and forefinger—but he gives it a good try, and Fjord’s dick twitches in his grasp. “Fair. But just so you know…” Another slow drag, firm and twisting, and Fjord groans. “I like messy.”

“Good to know.” Fjord gasps and grabs for the headboard as Caleb works a clever finger inside his body. “I kinda—I prepped a little just now, so—”

“Yeah.” Caleb stares up at him as he works a second finger in alongside the first, feeling out his prostate with only a little trial and error. He’s being very sweet and careful, but Fjord’s waited long enough. He reaches down and grabs Caleb’s cock, giving it a few strokes before dragging the head along his perineum and back, back, until he can sit on it in one slow, exquisite slide. “ _Fjord_ ,” he breathes, like a prayer, like a secret. Like a summoning. Fjord fumbles for his hand and holds it steady as he covers Caleb’s mouth with his own.

It’s been so long, and Caleb feels so good. He’s warm and hungry but so gentle, tangling their fingers together and whimpering between kisses, and he’s happy to let Fjord have his way with him, so Fjord does. Rocking slowly up and down at first, adjusting, then moving faster until the bed is creaking wildly and he has to brace the headboard against the wall to keep it from denting the plaster. Caleb’s cock in him is like a fucking religious experience. It cuts deep, like a sword thrust into his farthest, most secret places, and Fjord leans back to get it as deep inside him as he can, grinding against Caleb’s hipbones hard enough to bruise.

Sweat rises to his skin and beads there, running in hot droplets down his sides and chest as Caleb urges him up and over onto his back. Fjord makes a low noise of protest as his cock slips free, but Caleb soothes him with a murmur and a pillow under his back before slamming back in all the way to the hilt. Fjord _howls_ , head back and hands clutching at the sheets hard enough that he can hear the fibers straining beneath the pressure.

“Gorgeous,” Caleb gasps, shining with sweat, red-faced and rumpled as he fucks Fjord hard into the mattress. “Gods, look at you, you beautiful creature.” He pries Fjord’s thighs open wider, wider than he ever imagined they could go, and grinds deep into him with quick little thrusts that feel like they’re splitting him open from the inside.

Then Caleb wraps a hand around his cock.

“Holy _fuck._ ” Fjord’s eyes roll back in his head and he sobs as Caleb’s clever fingers work his knot in a slick, twisting motion that seems to move in tandem with the driving rhythm of his hips. “ _Please_ ,” he rasps, voice too far gone to make his vocal chords cooperate. “Caleb, fuck—fuck, I’m close, I wanna—”

“Make a mess of me,” Caleb growls, thumb shoving mercilessly against the base of his knot. “C’mon, sweetheart, I want to feel you cum.”

In the rush and heat of imminent orgasm, Fjord’s earlier concerns about the mess fly out the window. His fingers join Caleb’s around his cock, but he’s the one to snap the seal of the condom with a claw and peel it off, chucking it over the side of the bed to deal with later. Caleb chokes on laughter and drags his palm along Fjord’s bare cock.

“That’s a lot of precum,” he observes. He smears his fingers around the slippery head and then _down_ in a half-circle, squeezing over and back along the firmness of his knot. Fjord shudders.

“Yeah. Helps… ease the way. Y’know, when I’m the one doing the fucking.”

Caleb’s hips jerk forward suddenly like he’d forgotten what he was supposed to be doing. “I look forward to finding that out for myself,” he says, and shoves in deep.

Caught off guard by the image of actually _knotting Caleb_ , trapped between the dual pressures of Caleb’s hand on his knot and his dick in his ass, Fjord trips off the edge and straight into the best fucking orgasm of his life. He’s too out of breath to scream. Instead he gapes, spots dancing in front of his eyes and his whole body jerking as stripes of cum paint his chest and belly and _Caleb’s_ chest and belly in ropes of thick white. Caleb has stopped fucking him to let the aftershocks ride, but his hand around his knot is merciless—Fjord’s belly tightens and quivers as he spills over again, thick gobs of it dribbling over Caleb’s fingers and pooling in his navel.

He thinks he blacks out a little bit, because when he opens his eyes his ass is empty and Caleb is leaning over him with a blissful expression, braced against the mattress as his untouched cock spits out a few last droplets of cum onto Fjord’s erection.

His erection which isn’t exactly going away. Sticky and hot with more than just sweat— _shitting fuck we made a mess_ —Fjord reaches down and secures his knot in a snug grip before the ache can become uncomfortable.

“Fuck me running,” Caleb sighs, shivering a few more times as he sits back on his heels. His eyes catch on Fjord’s hand and he stares up at him, incredulous. “ _More?_ ”

“S-sort of,” Fjord stammers. He feels like his bones have all turned to mush, and it’s difficult to concentrate as the hormones from his knot begin to flood his system. “I think I’ve got a few more in me before it goes down.”

Caleb hums and bows his head, running slack lips over his frenulum. “Can I…”

“You—yeah. Yeah. I, um, haven’t been with anyone since my last check-up, so… _ahhh_ …”

Caleb’s mouth against his cock is just this side of too much, soft and careful enough that it feels sharply exquisite rather than uncomfortable. He hums at the flavor and bestows the head with gentle kitten-licks as he settles in on his stomach, legs propped against the headboard. His free hand nudges Fjord’s out of the way and tightens around his knot. “Is this good?”

“Just a little tighter…” Fjord closes his hand over Caleb’s, demonstrating, and garbles out a cry of warning as a smaller orgasm wrings a few drops of cum from his slit. There’s not much power behind it, and Caleb licks the droplets up with the point of his tongue. The warm pressure against his urethra has Fjord’s thighs shaking. “Cay…”

Caleb pulls away with a greedy slurping noise, still connected to the head of Fjord’s cock by a strand of saliva. He licks his lips and the strand breaks, laying shiny and accusatory in his beard. “You taste good,” he murmurs. He gives the knot a tender little squeeze. “Tell me if it’s too much?”

“I—I will.” Fjord drops his head back to the mattress with a small groan. “I’m sorry, it’s too good, I can’t look at you or I’ll—I’ll—”

He bites back a sob at the touch of Caleb’s tongue, patient and softly rasping over the wet tip of his cock in slow circles. The next build is a little more sluggish. Fjord can feel it a mile away, can feel his balls drawing up again and the soft insistent tickle of Caleb’s lips coaxing it out of him. He can’t quite stop his leg from jerking against the mattress as it hits him, and when he looks down, aftershocks still twitching through him like electricity, it’s to see Caleb with smears of white on his lips as Fjord’s cock drools another milliliter of semen down to his knuckles.

The hormonal haze takes him over then, and he only catches snapshots of the next few minutes as his knot slowly recedes and leaves him wrung-out and trembling, like flotsam washed up by the tide. When he comes back fully to himself, it’s to the warm texture of a wet cloth being dragged over his skin. Caleb, still nude, is patiently wiping him down—belly and thighs, chest, the sticky length of his cock.

“Y’don’t have to do that,” Fjord slurs, reaching out to brush Caleb’s thigh.

“Too late, I already did.” Smiling, Caleb bends down and kisses Fjord’s mouth. He tastes minty, like he brushed his teeth, with just a touch of salt at the corner of his lips. “Is there a hamper I can chuck this in?”

“Mm… closet.” He gestures vaguely and slumps back again as he listens to Caleb pad around the room.

Quietly, his stomach rumbles. Fjord’s eyes fly open. “ _Shit_. I was making you dinner.”

Caleb laughs, the sound slightly muffled. “It’s all right. I’ve eaten.”

“Cum doesn’t count,” Fjord shoots back. He props himself up on one elbow and rubs his face. “I’ve got everything ready to go, if you don’t mind waiting a sec…”

He trails off. Caleb has disposed of the washcloth and has also apparently helped himself to Fjord’s closet. Though his lower half is still bare, his soft cock nestled demurely in its nest of reddish-orange hair, the top half of him is mostly covered by one of Fjord’s old flannel shirts. It drapes all the way down to the middle of his thighs, covering his hands and hanging open just enough to coyly frame his hairy stomach and privates as he comes back to the edge of the bed.

“Rich in protein,” Caleb is saying, smacking his lips, eyes glimmering with laughter. Then, “Oh, sorry, I should’ve asked—do you mind…?”

“Not at all.” With some effort, Fjord levers himself upright and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. He coaxes Caleb to stand between them, hands to his bony hips beneath soft flannel. “You look… really fuckin’ sexy, actually.”

Caleb’s fingers find his hair, and Fjord leans into it, brushing a kiss to his diaphragm. “Mission accomplished, then,” he murmurs. He picks one knee up and braces it on the mattress, leaning close as he bows and kisses Fjord’s mouth. “I think I _will_ take that dinner after all,” he whispers when they part. “If you’re not too sleepy.”

“Yeah. I mean no, I’m not too sleepy.” Fjord wraps his arms around him and buries his face in his chest, warm and prickly with hair and steady with the feel of Caleb’s heartbeat beneath the skin. “Lemme just put something on.”

“Oh please don’t,” Caleb jokes, dragging his fingers through Fjord’s curls. “The view is so nice.”

“Hff.” One more kiss to his sternum and Fjord stands, swaying a little bit from the jelly in his limbs. But despite being shorter and slighter, Caleb stands with him, a sturdy rail to support the trembling vine. He tips his head up and kisses Fjord again, slow and thorough. “I’m never gonna get to the kitchen at this rate,” Fjord mumbles, though it’s hardly a complaint. He kisses the warmth of Caleb’s throat and sighs.

“All right, all right.” Caleb withdraws from his embrace and goes to the bedroom door. “I’ll just go make myself comfortable.”

“Please do.” Fjord watches him go until he disappears around the corner, and then goes to fetch boxers and some sweatpants.

On his way to the door he thinks to check his phone. There’s just one text from Beau, to his mild surprise: an eggplant emoji and a hand forming the OK sign. He laughs and tosses his phone to the mattress. There will be plenty of time to be snarky later. For now, he has tacos to make, a lovely half-naked redhead to pamper, and maybe, if he’s very lucky, some coffee to round out the evening just right.


End file.
